Stronger
by HelioSpired
Summary: Post OoTP. Harry comes to Privet Drive for the summer from hell. His unplanned and desperate escape has many far reaching consequences. Time travel fic. Crossover with Rurouni Kenshin. RKHP No pairings really, maybe some K/K in the background.


Alright, finally I return to writing fanfiction! After reading for so long, and finding myself unsatisfied with most of the new things I've come across, I decided to take a stab at writing again. So enjoy! As of now I don't have a beta reader, anyone interested please message me.  
**Ships**: None really. If there is any romance it's going to be K/K and M/S hanging out in the background. It is unlikely that I will pair Harry with anyone and I will not break up those couples.  
**Couple of notes:** Post OoTP, RK is going to start during the Revolution (briefly) but go all the way through the Jin-chuu arc, and then there are a couple of directions in which this might go, so enjoy the ride!  
Edit: Finally fixed the dates! Next chapter hopefully out soon.

**Stronger  
Survival **

**Tuesday July 11, 1996  
Privet Drive**

In a small room filled with broken toys lay a broken boy. Curled on one side he seemed to be hiding from the world, and the horrors that came with it. In actuality he was attempting to calm the pain caused by his broken rib, and trying in vain to keep himself warm on a eerily cool July night. The one part of his condition that no longer bothered him was the hunger. He was past the rumbling stage where his stomach continued digestion long after food had left him, he was past the cravings for nourishment, and he was past the gnawing pain of an empty stomach demanding food; he had gotten to the easy part of starvation, the part where even if he had any food to offer his malnourished body, said body would not accept it.

Harry Potter had been in this shape for two days now, though he himself wasn't sure of the amount of time that had passed. It was two days since his uncle had last 'visited' him, bringing with him a long list of accusations and no small amount of aggression. His Uncle Vernon had been drunk that day, a fact that Harry was glad for. He might be more brutal when he was drunk, but he was also less calculating, which in some ways made it hurt less for Harry. When his uncle was drunk Harry was able to make excuses for him, he was able to let himself believe that his uncle didn't really hate him enough to hurt him, he was just letting out his aggression. He knew he was fooling himself, however, he knew that his uncle had never looked at him without either disgust or contempt.

It was during these extended periods, when he was left alone for days without food or anything to do besides stare at Dudley's old broken and discarded toys that Harry wished he were stronger. A muggle shouldn't be able to overcome him with such ease. He should be able to fight back, he should be able to defend himself. How was he ever supposed to defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters if he couldn't even stop one muggle from repeatedly using him as a punching bag. Though to give himself some credit he acknowledged that it wasn't really just one muggle, it was three. His aunt weakened his body by denying him nourishment while his uncle and cousin actively injured him.

--

Harry groaned as his door swung open, closing his eyes as light flooded into his room. His uncle's form soon shadowed the doorway. Harry sniffed the air, and he couldn't smell any alcohol, but his uncle radiated fury. He thought frantically, trying to come up with a reason that his uncle could be so angry. 

He didn't have long to think though before he was grabbed roughly by his collar, hauled off the bed, and slammed in to the adjoining wall.

"What did I _tell_ you," his uncle hissed, "about those damn, ruddy owls?!" By the time he finished his question, he was shouting. Harry was quick to try and defend himself.

"Please, I didn't ask for any letters! Please. I would tell them not to send anymore, if I could just write one –"

"Absolutely not! I will not have you communicating with those _freaks_!" Harry braced himself as he saw a meaty hand coming towards his face.

--

**Wednesday July 10, 1996  
Privet Drive**

It was cold. That's all he could think of as he tried to remember why he was on the floor against the wall, when the last thing he remembered was being in bed. When he felt the fresh throbbing in the left side of his face, along with other new pains that he had yet to fully identify the memory of his uncle's fury came back to him. 'Well _fuck,_' he thought, 'I don't know how much more of this I can withstand.' And that wasn't an overstatement. While none of his injuries seemed life threatening, they were taking a toll on his body, and combined with the starvation his body was weakening. That didn't even take into account any amount of internal bleeding he might have acquired.

While taking a catalog of his newest injuries – his back seemed to be newly sensitive and he could no longer properly move his wrist – he noticed a piece of parchment rolled up on the floor near his feet. Not believing his luck, he slowly reached for it, being very mindful of his rib. Unrolling it almost reverently, he was disappointed to find it was from Dumbledore and not one of his friends. It read:

_Dear Harry,_

_If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven P.M. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays._

_If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of you assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you._

_Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday._

_I am, yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

'It's not like I could reply if I wanted to, Uncle Vernon has probably seen to that.' It was a distressing thought. The owl that bore the letter was not to be found, and Harry's own owl, Hedwig, was 

being held by his uncle, only being kept to send a letter every three days to the Order. A letter which had been written the day Harry had gotten 'home', as they all had.

More distressing, though, was that Harry didn't know what he would have replied to that letter if he could have. He wanted to get out of the house, he didn't want to have to go through what he was going through, but at the same time he couldn't be seen in his condition. He would let everybody down. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to bring down the most powerful wizard of the age. He was not supposed to be beaten up by his muggle uncle. He was not supposed to be starved to the point where it was easier to stay on the ground where he had been left than to gather the energy required to move the four feet to the bed. It was with these thoughts that he drifted into a fitful sleep later that night.

--

**Thursday July 11, 1996  
Privet Drive**

_The shrill screams of a woman rent the air. High pitched laughter filled the spaces in between. It was a night of celebration for the Dark Lord, and he was up to his favorite sport of torturing muggles. That is he was, until a voice interrupted his enjoyment._

"_My Lord! The plan- it has failed. Access to the Potter boy's residence is still un-"_

_Voldemort had missed the day in class where he was taught to never kill the messenger. "Crucio!"_

Harry jerked awake, sweat streaming down his face. He tried to tell if he had screamed or not. It was impossible to tell, his throat was raw and dry from dehydration and lack of use already, screaming would not have made a difference. The heavy sound of his uncle's footfalls, however, told him that he had not yet learnt to keep quiet during his visions. 'You would think my subconscious would be on my side,' he thought bitterly.

As the footfalls came closer, panic began to set in. He couldn't go through this again. There was no way his body could withstand another beating. But no help was coming, he hadn't replied to Dumbledore's letter, and it was only Thursday anyway. And even if Dumbledore could rescue him, was that really what he wanted. With these thoughts swirling through his head he listened to his uncle's footsteps come closer. 'I just want to go away. Somewhere I don't have to be Harry Potter; where I don't have relatives that hate me, where I don't have to defeat a Dark Lord. Somewhere I can grow stronger for my own enrichment, not to be sharpened into a tool. Somewhere no one can follow me.'

The door was starting to open, and Harry's magic was beginning to adapt to his desperation. Harry vaguely saw his uncle coming towards him. He watched as if in slow motion as a fist was raised. But when the fist came down it went straight through drywall. Harry was gone.

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